Strictly Ballroom the Musical misses some steps
Baz Luhrmann’s Strictly Ballroom the Musical
(out of 4) Created by Baz Luhrmann, book by Luhrmann and Craig Pearce, directed and choreographed by Drew McOnie. Through June 25 at the Princess of Wales Theatre, 300 King St. W. mirvish.com, 416-872-1212 or 1-800-461-3333 There’s excess and then there’s excess.
The1992 film that inspired this new musical not only knew that it was an over-the-top, sentimental pastiche; it flaunted it.
Onto a simple story of a competitive ballroom dancer with the maverick soul of a true artist, Strictly Ballroom grafted a glitzy, colour-drenched esthetic, a knowing satire of suburban Australian tackiness and a rom-com arc that shamelessly tugged heartstrings.
All that and a few covers of popular hits from different eras to leave ’em humming.
It should have been too much, but so unique and confident was the signature of its creator that the film turned out to be his star-is-born story: Baz Luhrmann has become one of the most successful filmmakers of his generation.
But before it was a film, Strictly Ballroom was a play — created by Luhrmann in the ’80s while he was still in drama school — and for the past three years he’s been trying to transform it into a glitzy stage musical.
That path has not been straightforward. When the musical’s 2014 premiere in his native Sydney received mixed reviews, Luhrmann handed over directing reins to English choreographer Drew McOnie, who reworked it for a run at the West Yorkshire Playhouse late last year. Now the show’s landed at the Princess of Wales, co-produced by David Mirvish and featuring a largely English cast.
But on its way back to the stage, a lot of the film’s magic has been lost — smothered by an uncertain approach that layers musical theatre songs and production numbers onto the familiar plot, characters and beloved setpieces.
The show doesn’t take full enough account of all the cultural water that’s flowed under the bridge in the last 25 years. In part because of the film’s success, ballroom dancing has become much more familiar thanks to TV shows like Strictly Come Dancing and Dancing With the Stars. This production doesn’t fully meet expectations for novelty and excellence that the high public knowledge of ballroom has created.
As with the film, the show drops us straight into a dance competition: couples swirling around the stage, the sequins on Catherine Martin’s costumes sparkling, and Scott Hastings (Sam Lips) busting loose with improvisational leaps that send the dance establishment, including his stage mother Shirley (Tamsin Carroll) into a conservative frenzy.
This is framed by a song (“When You’re Strictly Ballroom”) that the performers deliver while dancing. Because the music and lyrics are straightforward to the point of being forgettable, this element adds little to the action. This concern persists throughout: the songs aren’t distinguished enough to feel like they merit inclusion in the already overstuffed sensory experience.
What works best are iconic scenes from the movie, not necessarily because they’ve been rethought but because they’re delivered with skill, connect emotionally and are nostalgically familiar. Lips’ Scott and Gemma Sutton’s creamy-voiced Fran sing “Time After Time” in front of a big neon Coca-Cola sign and the swooping feeling of romance is irresistible. Their sincere performances, strong connection, and fine singing and dancing are the show’s highlight, though Lips is still gaining confidence as an actor.
Most electrically, Fran’s father Rico (Fernando Mira) teaches Scott the paso doble in the first-act finale “Magnifico” and it brings the house down. Mira, a holdover from the Australian cast, is an extraordinary flamenco dancer, and he and Eve Polycarpou as Fran’s grandmother hit just the right tone of knowing camp.
While such moments, mingled with some well-choreographed and delivered ballroom sequences, are just about enough to hold the show together in the first act, there’s a multicar pileup feel to the second — in scene after scene there’s so much happening onstage that what’s distinguished or potentially moving gets lost.
While Soutra Gilmour’s design of a central square rolling unit and a scaffolding frame are initially used cleverly (with Tim Lutkin’s lighting) to create striking images, the sight and sound of the moving set becomes cumbersome. The climactic moment when Scott and Fran deliver their own Latin number is hampered by the distracting background of other dancers.
While there is some delightful singing, dancing and acting in character roles, including Carroll’s tortured Shirley and Charlotte Gooch’s ice queen Tina Sparkle, other evidently talented actors overplay the exaggeration, in particular Julius D’Silva as the crooked dance honcho Barry Fife.
What’s still missing is a distanced directorial or producing eye that knows how to shape and prune material. McOnie’s talent as a choreographer is clear, but he seems over his head in delivering a complete theatrical package.
This show about the power of art to transform lives has still not found the way to its own transformation.